


Beneath our feet are the bones of a thousand years

by katawaredoki (spam_musubi)



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27679331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spam_musubi/pseuds/katawaredoki
Summary: The news arrives with the spring, just as the last remnants of snow seep into the ground, returning home to the earth.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jung Wooyoung/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> To J, who shaped my three hours of wistful thinking and weeks of literary agonizing into an actual work. Thank you for being an incredible beta and an even better friend - I hope this work is as wonderful as you helped me see it to be.

Gold and vermillion layer the streets, a fragile blanket foretelling the arrival of winter. With each step that Wooyoung takes, the leaves crunch under the sole of his shoes; in his boredom, the usually mundane sounds suddenly become interesting. He focuses on the crisp, satisfying rustling, tuning out the chatter of merchants and customers alike in the storefronts nearby.

A minute is all it takes to quell Wooyoung’s wonder, momentary obsession overshadowed by growing impatience. He taps his foot on the half-covered granite below, debating whether he should just walk into the shop he’s standing to the side of. The sounds of lively bustle coming from within and the rather constant stream of customers make him decide against it - they seem busy today, and he doesn’t want to distract without urgent reason.

Wooyoung crosses his arms and lets out a small, defeated sigh. Before he can get bored again, a sharp jab to his ribs brings him to alertness; his yelp at the jarring sensation is met with a bright peal of laughter, and Wooyoung spins around to scowl at the perpetrator. 

San grins at him, eyes upturned in familiar crescents. He steps forward and slings an arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders; Wooyoung gives him a halfhearted shove in retribution, grumbling a childish _get away from me_ , but both of them know that Wooyoung would be even more upset if San actually let him go. Still, Wooyoung regards the older with a practiced frown, bottom lip jutting out in protest.

“Sorry,” San says, tone genuinely apologetic, “Father asked me to take over for a bit, and he just got back.”

Before he can respond, Wooyoung sees San’s mother emerge from behind the fabric dividers of the storefront, and he turns promptly to bow his head in greeting.

“Always a joy to see you, Wooyoung,” San’s mother greets, smiling. “How have you been?”

San relinquishes Wooyoung so that the younger can step forward for a hug; he’s known San’s mother since he was born, and she’s second only to his own in terms of dearness. 

“I’ve been doing well! I see that the shop is really busy these days,” Wooyoung says, stepping back.

“Yes, business always ramps up around Chuseok,” San’s mother explains. “That’s why we’ve had San helping out so much recently, as much as he hates not being able to spend as much time with you.”

Apart from a laugh, Wooyoung’s not sure how to respond. He smiles sheepishly, hand coming up to the nape of his neck, and wonders if he’s imagining how knowing her smile looks.

“Anyways, I’ve got to get going - you boys have fun, alright?” With that and a wave, San’s mother departs. It takes only a few seconds for the conversation between him and San to re-spark, and the two set off towards the waterfront with plenty of laughter.

— ❁ —

“Are you going to tell him?”

“Hmm, let me think,” Wooyoung purses his lips in mock thought. “Absolutely not.”

The anticipation on Jongho’s face shifts to exasperation. “You two already spend nearly every minute of every day together.”

“I just...I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Jongho rolls his eyes. “If you’ve _seen_ the way he stares at you, you’d realize that what you have going on right now is hardly what one considers to be friendship.”

Wooyoung wants to ask what that’s supposed to mean, but of course he knows what it means - ever since Jongho pointed it out to him a month back, he’s been painfully aware of the way that San looks at him. The problem is that he’s not sure if the fondness in the olders’ eyes is a product of their friendship, a brotherly affection from having been so close for so long, or if it’s…

Wooyoung lets out a nervous cough just thinking about it, meaning that he surely would not be able to voice it aloud to San.

— ❁ —

Thankfully, as he has on so many other occasions, San saves Wooyoung from difficulty. 

It’s just after closing, and the two of them are cleaning up the shop, sweeping the floors and wiping down the tables. San, tasked with the latter, finishes first, and he takes to sitting down at a table and watching Wooyoung get about the former. 

“Aren’t you going to help me?” Wooyoung complains, corners of his mouth downturned.

“You’re almost done,” San notes, “By the time I retrieve the other broom, you’ll be finished.”

Wooyoung lets out a disgruntled huff, but the older is right. He tries to finish as swiftly as possible, blush spreading across his nose at the feeling of San watching him.

Before he goes to empty the tray, Wooyoung works up the courage to meet San’s gaze.

“What.” he says, not bothering to voice it as a question.

San blinks at him, and Wooyoung tries to stare him down into an answer with no avail. Wooyoung is just about to turn away, exasperated sigh prepared, when the older speaks.

“I like you,” San states, as simply as if he was noting that it was cold outside that day.

“Yeah, yeah, I like me too,” Wooyoung grumbles; it’s not the first time that San has said this to him, though it’s odd arising in a context in which there’s nothing to curry favor for. Wooyoung bends over to pick up the dustpan, and by the time he rises again, San has gotten out of his seat.

“No, I really like you.”

The hammering of Wooyoung’s heart fills the silence that has fallen over the shop. He half wonders if San is joking, but the serious expression on the other’s face is a sure indicator otherwise.

“Oh,” Wooyoung says. “Uhm.”

A few seconds pass in tense quiet, and it’s only when a crease appears between San’s eyebrows that Wooyoung snaps back into reality.

He didn’t expect to have his first kiss standing in the Choi family’s shop, dustpan in one hand and a broom in the other, but when he thinks about it, there’s no other place (and no other person) that would make sense.

— ❁ —

The news arrives with the spring, just as the last remnants of snow seep into the ground, returning home to the earth.

Beyond the muted whispering of head officials and the occasional ration, their town, far removed from the capital, was rarely involved in the skirmishes that broke out about the borders. Usually, such matters were not infrequent, but they were handled wholly by the imperial army; it was last three generations ago that a draft had reached the outskirts.

The announcement feels surreal. An official reads from a crafted scroll more regal than anything Wooyoung’s seen in his entire life, stating that all men over the age of sixteen must prepare for departure in just two days. Standing in the courtyard beside many of the people he’d grown up with, Wooyoung pinches himself, a small part of him desperate for it to be a dream. No matter how hard he tries to picture the scene, Woooyung can’t fathom seeing some of the younger boys at the academy, newly sixteen, on the battlefield. He’d grown up preparing for this; searing afternoons had been spent practicing swordwork, preparation made mandatory by capital proclamation for the draft ever lingering on the horizon, but time had numbed him to its prospects.

 _Hey, if we ever do get drafted, at least we’ll be fighting alongside each other_ , he can hear Jongho say. In the past, he’d agreed wholeheartedly to the statement, barking out a laugh, but now he can’t even manage a smile, wishing that they didn’t all have to go. Not Jongho, not…

A warm hand closes over his own, and Wooyoung turns to see San standing next to him, lips pressed into a thin line. Only after the official’s announcement is finished does he look over at Wooyoung. His smile is meant to assure, but Wooyoung doesn’t miss the uncertainty in his eyes.

That night, through hitched breaths and languid touches, Wooyoung and San exchange the words that they are too scared to speak aloud. Wrapped in San’s embrace, it’s easy to forget; yet, even as the world beyond them seems to stop, each kiss brings them closer to the inevitable.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you scared of dying?”
> 
> San’s words materialize in the cold air on a plume of breath, white wisps fading into an obsidian sky. 
> 
> Wooyoung purses his lips and turns the question over in his head. The seconds tick by steadily.
> 
> “Yeah,” he finally responds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last! Somehow writing angst goes so much more smoothly than writing smut and I have an inkling it has something to do with all the yaoi I've been reading lately. 
> 
> This fic was only completed thanks to A, who came up with this incredible premise and built out a frame with the most beautiful words I've ever read. If anything, I was really the beta on this one ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

They get their assignments on a sun-streaked afternoon, azure sky so beautiful that it’s mocking. Wooyoung’s not sure whether to be overjoyed or devastated at the fact that he’s been put in a unit with San. It’s a gift, he supposes; he does a poor job of convincing himself that he wouldn’t prefer uncertainty, that he wouldn’t love to have the option to imagine that everything is fine. Jongho pays him a visit, and Wooyoung’s eyes start to water before he can even choke out a greeting. They sob into each other’s shoulders, Jongho muttering something about not wanting their parents to have to see them like this. Wooyoung’s heart aches with understanding, heavy with the sorrow his mother regards him with when she thinks he isn’t looking.

The night before departure, Wooyoung’s mother hands him a tassel. “For protection,” she says, placing the object into his hand, soft emerald threads gathered by precious silver. Wooyoung whispers his thanks, afraid that his voice will quiver if he speaks any louder. He stares blankly at the tassel in his palm and tries his best to hold it together. His mother reaches a gentle hand underneath his chin and tilts his gaze upwards; Wooyoung manages a smile, and hers is just as ingenuine.

The morning they set off is just like any other, and Wooyoung wants to laugh at how utterly anticlimactic it is. Familiar, mouthwatering smells waft out from the storefronts he passes on his way to the center of town; in the marketplace, many merchants - women and children and men who are too old, too sickly, or too dishonest to fight - sit idly at their stalls, waiting for the afternoon rush that will occur as soon as they depart.

At mid-morning, they start marching, and Wooyoung dares not look back. It’s not until they pass under the town’s northern gateway that he realizes he’s been holding his breath; his strides are mechanical and his expression devoid of its usual animation, and the only natural thing left is the sure weight of San’s presence by his side. 

Wooyoung’s not quite sure what he’d do if he lost that, too. 

— ❁ —

“Are you scared of dying?”

San’s words materialize in the cold air on a plume of breath, white wisps fading into an obsidian sky. They’re sitting by one of the fire pits dug out at their camp for the night, the embers crackling with envious fervor, a ways apart from those still outside; many have already retreated into their tents, wary of the battle to come. According to their general’s estimate, they’re one and a half days away from their destination, a city right at the border of the conflict.

Wooyoung purses his lips and turns the question over in his head. The seconds tick by steadily.

“Yeah,” he finally responds.

San gives a hum of acknowledgement. Wooyoung stares at him expectantly; still, the older says nothing. 

Wooyoung looks away, too tired to pursue a reply. He sets his sights on the glimmering firmament, trying to make out the constellations his mother had taught him when he was younger. The effort makes his heart ache, so he drops his gaze to the pit in front of him, eyes kept busy by dancing sparks.

“Me too,” San says. 

_I know_ , Wooyoung itches to say, but he’d only half-expected the answer. San had always been the braver of the two of them, and something about the admittance makes the war more concrete in Wooyoung’s mind, and a weight on his shoulders is lifted but the hollowness in his stomach grows.

He takes San’s hand, grasping it between both of his own, and the two of them sit in silence, watching the flames flicker. Wooyoung feels San press something into his hand, and he turns his head to meet San’s insistent gaze. He holds the object in front of his face, unable to make out the shape without the fire’s assistance.

It’s a tassel, dyed a lovely scarlet and gathered by glistening gold.

“My mother gave it to me. It’s supposed to protect the wearer.” San pauses, a _so_ implied. “I want you to have it.”

For the first time in days, though not untinged by anguish, a genuine smile finds its way to Wooyoung’s lips. San wraps an arm around Wooyoung’s waist and pulls him closer, and the younger shifts readily into his embrace. Wooyoung reaches into the folds of his garments, swapping his tassel with the one he has just been gifted.

“This is for you, then,” Wooyoung states, handing San the emerald-strewn adornment.

San’s expression is wistful as he twirls the object. “May they keep us safe,” he says.

Wooyoung nods into San’s shoulder, repeating the words in a muted whisper. The embers are fading now, but he’s not even cold anymore; he just wants to cling onto warmth for as long as he possibly can.

— ❁ —

The war continues with no clear end in sight. With each passing campaign, familiar faces come and go until everything is a blur between the crushing defeats and bittersweet victories. San and Wooyoung aren’t always assigned under the same commanding officers, and it becomes harder and harder for Wooyoung to see the older’s face. 

It’s become an unconscious habit for Wooyoung to sweep his hands over the tassel hanging from his sword. Wooyoung wonders more often than he should about what he’d do when the sparkling scarlet and gold threads are inevitably dyed a bloody crimson. 

With every passing battle, Wooyoung watches helplessly as countless lives, friend and foe alike, are snuffed out. It’s too easy, the way his blade cleaves through flesh and bone; the way names and faces lose their meaning; the way the emptiness in his chest widens until all he feels is his sword in his hand and the pain in his heart. 

The desperation that bubbles up is suffocating, and it claws at his throat every night, manifesting in a nauseating and restless sleep. It’s not rare for him to wake up in a cold sweat, dry heaving outside his tent, while the rest of the world sleeps. Everything around him is a blur, except for the image of San in his mind, starkly clear in contrast, like a motif etched into his entire being. 

Wooyoung is lulled back to sleep only by reassuring thoughts of reuniting with San, tassel gripped tightly to his chest. 

— ❁ —

It’s no surprise that tensions run high in the camps; there are a handful of seasoned veterans, but most of the recruits this time around are new faces and it’s clear the pressure of their first battlefield is crippling. 

Only at night, after each day of ferocious fighting and imminent dangers has come and gone, are the soldiers able to rest with what can only be considered temporary reprieve. Boisterous laughter and light-hearted chuckles thinly veil the fear that every man in the camp feels - Wooyoung knows this because he feels it too - and no alcohol is strong enough to dispel those demons. 

A heavy arm slings around his shoulders, and Wooyoung looks up to see Minsik. Like Wooyoung, Minsik had volunteered early on, and somehow through sheer luck, they had been assigned to the same infantry more times than not. Wooyoung smiles up at the familiar face; the man is friendly to a fault - sometimes Wooyoung worries that the cheeriness is merely a facade, God knows how often he finds himself doing the same these days - and the grin he flashes back at Wooyoung reflects that fact. 

“Why the long face, hyung? You should be celebrating with us!” The man takes a long drink from the bottle he’s holding and settles down next to Wooyoung with an _oomph_. 

A wry chuckle escapes Wooyoung, who gestures at the nearly-full bottle by his feet, “Don’t worry, I’ve already poured one out for our fallen comrades.” 

The other man is silent for a pause, before a heavy clap leaves a stinging burn on Wooyoung’s back. “Even more reason to be celebrating then. We’ve battled alongside some of the bravest men, we’ve fought tooth and nail to survive day after day.” Minsik’s expression is sombre, eyes strikingly bright for someone who’s already downed half a bottle and then some, and the seriousness stirs something deep within Wooyoung. “Our brothers laid down their lives so that we could be sitting here right now. You think they’d want to see you wallowing all alone like this?” 

Wooyoung purses his lips, carefully considering Minsik’s words. A tipsy giggle suddenly interrupts his thoughts, and before Wooyoung can avoid him, Minsik is planting a wet kiss on his cheek and dragging Wooyoung up by his arms. “C’mon, you know I’m right, hyung!” 

A reluctant smile spreads on Wooyoung’s face, and he pushes playfully at the younger man as he wipes at the wetness on his cheek, “I’ve told you to stop doing that, didn’t I? People’ll get the wrong idea.” 

Minsik’s lips push into a comical pout that makes Wooyoung snort, “Who cares? I like you, hyung, don’t you know?” 

Wooyoung pretends he doesn’t know, even though he really does, because he has San and Minsik already knows this. Still, Wooyoung’s not sure how to handle the advances, so he pretends, and resolves to keep pretending, until those blooming feelings become muted murmurs that get swept away and forgotten. 

— ❁ —

Wooyoung and San rise quickly through the ranks, and as they have been for most of their lives, they’re regarded by those around them as two halves of one whole. Even as commanders of hundred-man units, the two of them are rarely assigned to missions without the other; their general states that he’s never seen two commanders so in sync with one another.

“It’s easy when you’ve spent your entire lives together,” Wooyoung tells him, and a good-natured follow-up from San about how difficult that has been appeases the general. Wooyoung does not mention the whole falling in love part of it, but the twilights that he and San share, though now few and far between, assure him that it needs not be said to be true.

He recalls being afraid of having to see San die - he still _is_ scared of the prospect, but he’s not sure if it’s better than seeing the sparkle in San’s eyes dwindle away battle by battle; whether it's less painful to see a candle slowly melt away, knowing the barren cold nears with every pale pool of wax, than to snuff out the flame all at once and spare one the suffering.

The powerlessness Wooyoung endures lies on a path that only leads to desperation, so he holds San just a little bit tighter, hugs him just a little bit closer, says _I love you_ just a little bit more.

In the way that San murmurs hushed endearments against the shell of Wooyoung’s ear, voice still soft and promises still lovely, Wooyoung finds the beautiful and heartbreaking privilege of not having to dwell on it.

— ❁ —

They should have seen it coming, San insists.

Wooyoung knows otherwise - the strategy was too underhanded for it to have even crossed their minds, but that doesn’t stop San from slamming his fists against the cell walls until his knuckles rip rose.

When San’s fury has washed into sorrow, he finally turns to face the younger; his eyes are focused on Wooyoung’s face, but his gaze is far away.

“Why didn’t you just leave me?” San asks, as if he didn’t know the answer as well as Wooyoung did. “You could have saved yourself.”

The anger that rises is so unprecedented it surprises even himself; Wooyoung grabs the older by the collar, features tainted by the rage he feels. “And then what? Left you to die?” 

San shifts his gaze away, not meeting Wooyoung’s eyes. Wooyoung can feel San's heartbeat pounding beneath his fingertips, and the rhythm beats in tandem with his own. He lets go of the coarse fabric, exhaling deeply, but keeps his hands planted on San’s shoulders. 

“I would follow you to the ends of the earth,” Wooyoung whispers. 

Wooyoung hopes, _prays_ , that his words reach San. He's not sure if they do. 

The older’s face twists into an expression that Wooyoung doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to find the words to describe. 

Had their plan for him and San been death, things would be simple enough, but the days wear into weeks without repose. The knowledge that San is with him is barely enough to keep Wooyoung sane through the pain and the dark and the hunger.

San asks him if he thinks that they’ll just keep them here until the end of the war, and Wooyoung replies that he’s too tired to think anymore. When he closes his eyes, he can no longer quite make out the faces of his parents. It’s silly, Wooyoung thinks, that people are able to miss things that they can’t even remember.

When they finally take San away, Wooyoung wishes that he was brave enough to die.

He screams until someone enters his cell and beats the voice out of him, and it’s funny, Wooyoung muses, that he’s grateful to be too broken to think.

At dawn, they haul him out of his cell, march him somewhere forgotten, and, in one last act of spite, shove him down onto the unforgiving earth.

“Go home,” they tell him, as if there’s a home left for Wooyoung to return to.

— ❁ —

Wooyoung throws himself mindlessly into battle, simultaneously equipped with and blinded by grief in rage. It’s to his sardonicism’s utter delight that the recklessness with which he fights gets him promoted, and he quashes the thought of how proud San would be of him for his laurels, wondering who could ever be appreciative of so much life lost.

One of his first tasks as a high commander is to intercept a message between enemy generals. It’s an unspoken rule that forces cannot target messengers, but the opposition hadn’t stuck by it; in any case, though Wooyoung had initially thought the assignment too silly for his post, the correspondence was apparently valuable enough to be carried by a legion of soldiers, sparing him from guilt of breach.

His troops back the legion into a cave; they offer peaceful surrender, but at rejection, Wooyoung’s left with little choice but to cut his way to the objective, the scarlet that stains his armor a grotesque complement to the tassel at the end of his sword. 

Once he finally obtains the correspondence, he unravels the scroll and quickly skims over its contents. _All this bloodshed for something we already knew_ , Wooyoung thinks. It’s nice, he supposes, that they now have some corroboration for the speculation they’ve made regarding enemy movements, but the evidence is uncertain, yet to be weighed against the possibility that the contents are purposefully misleading. Still, something is better than nothing, but the miniscule part of Wooyoung that hasn’t been numbed or steeled by warfare shudders at the price that has been paid.

Wooyoung spares a glance at the scroll’s previous keeper. He bends down and does one last rummage of the man’s robes, and the brush of his fingertips against the scratch of cloth leaves him glad he did so. Retrieving the item, Wooyoung rights himself.

Some carry talismans, some carry tassels, and some, it seems, carry notes haphazardly scribbled on handkerchiefs, but they all serve the same purpose, derived from the same intent. The message is presumably from the man’s fiancée; Wooyoung stops reading as soon as he realizes this, but the words are already carved into his conscience. They’re the first things in a long time that his plated armor has not been able to spare him from.

 _May this keep you safe, my love_.

The words are painfully familiar, and a twisted expression falls across Wooyoung’s face. He tucks the handkerchief back where he found it, then steps back, considering. The eerie quiet is broken when Wooyoung barks out a dry, guttural laugh; all three of them are fools - the man for carrying it, his fiancée for believing in it, and Wooyoung for thinking that its return can guide any of them out of the dark, ravenous pit of death and misery.

Indignant, Wooyoung turns his head upwards, seething with an anger that his body cannot contain.

“Why did you allow all of this?” he screams.

The cave answers with a sorrowful echo: “Why did you allow all of this?”

— ❁ —

“There’s no way that’s true”, Wooyoung asserts, voice flat and annoyed. “San is dead.”

The generals around the table look at him with a pity that makes his blood boil, and Wooyoung rises from his seat and stalks out of the tent. 

An unsettling feeling sits at the base of his stomach, like a forgotten memory begging to be remembered, leaving him feeling gutted and breathless. He grabs his sword from his tent, but the sight of the scarlet and gold threads hanging from his sword only sends another wave of anguish through him. 

The restlessness he feels is endless, and Wooyoung lets his feet guide him somewhere. _Anywhere_. 

Nowhere. 

He ends up in a forest clearing, just south of the main camp, and with a shout of rage he swings his blade blindly at the trees around him. The wounds in his heart match the cuts in the wood, jagged and splintered. With every furious slash, it feels as though the scars - those that he had thought had long healed over - are violently torn open again. 

Maybe, he thinks, that this is the price he must pay for the lives he has taken. 

He screams and shouts until his voice is hoarse from abuse and his throat is shredded and stripped. The pain doesn’t compare to what he feels when he thinks of San, kind, loving, _lying_ San, so he keeps at it. He swings and swings, until his palms are bleeding, and his clothes soaked through with rancid sweat. He doesn’t stop until it feels like the ache in his body has finally numbed the wretchedness in his heart. 

— ❁ —

Innumerable hours have passed when Minsik comes to find him later that night. Wooyoung has long since exhausted himself, and the younger man finds him staring blankly into the darkness. Wooyoung can hear Minsik calling out to him, like distant sounds muffled by layers of thick wool, but he can’t bring himself to respond. 

Somewhere between getting brought back to Minsik’s tent and the younger wiping down the grime and filth on his body, Wooyoung’s gaze focuses for the first time since receiving the news regarding San. 

“You still like me, right?”

Minsik responds with silence that Wooyoung accepts as an assent. The next words escape his lips as a whisper that even Wooyoung himself strains to hear, “Will you hold me tonight?” 

Minsik is too gentle, too kind. The way he kisses away the tears that spill down Wooyoung’s cheeks unbeknownst to him, soft lips spilling sweet reassurances, only makes his heart ache more. Wooyoung wants it to hurt, wants his body to be torn apart until nothing is left, so he does just that. And sweet Minsik, ever generous and selfless, indulges Wooyoung in his greediness. 

It’s already dawn when Wooyoung slips out from beneath Minsik’s embrace. He grabs his sword from the floor and glares down at the offending scarlet and gold threads. He rips off the tassel, arm positioned to throw it away, but his fingers can’t seem to bear to let go. Stuffing the charm into his chest pocket, he treads slowly back towards his own tent, footsteps unbearably heavy. 

His muscles twinge with residual soreness but he ignores it easily. Pinks and reds and purples in the early morning sky remind him of the remnant kiss marks littered on his skin. The aches and bruises fade before the emptiness in his chest does. 

— ❁ —

Wooyoung stirs awake before the rising sun even reaches the edge of the plains. Stepping out of his tent, he gazes into the distance; after several strenuous days of battle, the defining clash would most undoubtedly occur today - a bloody struggle for both sides that will surely be recorded in history for years to come. 

His lieutenant finds him only a few moments later and berates him for not being already dressed in his battle gear. For some reason, Wooyoung feels oddly calm. As if everything has fallen into place, the words slip out unfiltered, “Today will be the end, won’t it?”

His lieutenant doesn’t even spare a glance from the strategist board in front of him, “It does not matter whether it is today, tomorrow, or the next lifetime. Commander, you have bravely led us in countless battles, and today is no different. Our men will always follow you until the ends of the earth, even if that means it really is the end.” 

The voice that speaks is resolute, and the familiar words strike a painful chord within Wooyoung. He doesn’t respond, but his lieutenant neither takes his silence to heart nor seems to notice if anything is wrong. Wooyoung is grateful. 

The tassel still sits in his chest pocket, weighing particularly heavily on his heart today. The threads are worn down and threadbare now, the scarlet dull and the gold no longer vibrant. For some reason unknown even to Wooyoung, he ties the tassel once again to the end of his sword, before grabbing his helmet, then clasping a hand onto his lieutenant’s shoulder. 

“Let’s capture a general’s head today, hm?” 

— ❁ —

San was never the type to sit back and command his soldiers from afar; so, when he notices a formation on their right wing collapsing, he springs into action without another thought. He had been feeling on edge since early morning, and the adrenaline is like hot electricity pulsing through his entire being. He mounts his steed and charges in, despite his lieutenant’s vehement protestations. As he cleaves his way through the forces, he clears a path for himself and the few elite soldiers he’s brought along, rallying friendly comrades and cutting down enemy soldiers. 

San doesn’t realize, until it’s too late, that he’s been baited into a trap. The enemy troops have somehow looped around, and San watches as the small gap for escape rapidly diminishes until he and his soldiers are surrounded by foes. 

San berates his negligence and his irresponsible actions that were now costing him the lives of countless men. 

It’s brief, but an opening on their left appears, and San wastes no time in sending a messenger to propagate his new commands. Renewed morale ripples through his troops, and they steadily make their way out of the messy clash. 

Suddenly, a waving flag catches his attention from the corner of his eye, and San doesn’t hesitate at all, turning around to chase the flag in the distance. Without the aid of his troops, it’s clearly a suicide mission, but San doesn’t care. 

Of course he doesn’t. 

He had resolved to lay down his life on the battlefield long ago. Because of his cowardice, he had thrown away so much: his loyalty, his identity, _Wooyoung_. All for the measly price of sparing his own life. And what exactly had that amounted to? 

When he and Wooyoung had been captured, San had convinced himself that he was cornered into the decision, taking the single hand of hope extended towards him, the only option to safely get both himself and Wooyoung out of that grave and dire situation. 

But the regret surfaced soon after. He had reasoned that he had to let Wooyoung go, that he had betrayed Wooyoung only to keep the younger man safe. But San knew that these were merely meager excuses for his own naivety, and the pain of being ripped apart from Wooyoung became the daily price he paid. 

He’s come to terms with the fact that he’s the reason that he and Wooyoung are separated, the reason why they now stand on opposite sides of this endless, pointless war. San’s resolve, his _atonement_ , could only be to stand on the bloody warpath until he could stand no longer. 

The yells of soldiers and rampant footsteps roars in his ears, or maybe it’s the sound of the adrenaline running through veins and the pounding heartbeat in his chest. He pushes against wave after wave of enemy troops, gaze trained only on his ultimate goal, until he finally reaches the place where the flag is raised. 

In front of San stands an enemy general, and as luck would have it, the man has his back turned towards San and is full of openings. The formations around the enemy general are frenzied and out of order, and San estimates that he only has a few seconds before the troops would reorganize themselves and he would lose his opportunity, and his life. 

Familiar scarlet and golden threads flash before his eyes but when he blinks again they’re gone. The glare of the afternoon sun reflects brightly, and San squints his eyes to focus onto the man in front of him. He charges his steed at the man, sword raised and ready. 

But for some reason, San wavers.

— ❁ —

Wooyoung’s lieutenant is yelling something at him, but Wooyoung can barely hear him over the screams of warfare and the clash of metal-on-metal. A glint of silver brings Wooyoung to full attention, and he spins around just in time to dodge the impending attack. 

The war runs deep through Wooyoung’s blood, and he instinctively takes the opening to knock the general off of his horse, gashing open the man’s armor.

Wooyoung sees the tassel before he sees San’s face, but none of it matters because it’s already too late.

— ❁ —

When Wooyoung lifts his blade again, the scarlet tassel at its end swings against the vermillion sky, the sunset an ember blaze, and he’s brought back to the beginning of the end.

_Are you scared of dying?_

This time around, his answer is immediate.

 _No, San_ , _for without you, I am no longer alive._  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who made it to the end, thank you! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Come interact with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/pcwhy_____)!


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